


let me say it one more time

by soulgraves



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulgraves/pseuds/soulgraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They crossed the line from dancing to foreplay miles back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me say it one more time

**Author's Note:**

> For [lauraperfectinsanity](http://lauraperfectinsanity.tumblr.com)’s [Blam prompt](http://lauraperfectinsanity.tumblr.com/post/75689247359) #86: _Season 4 slightly AU (Brittany and Sam already broke up). Blaine and Sam are secretly together and no one in glee club suspects anything. During a glee party, they’re drunk and with no inhibitions they start to dance really close and dirty (quite a sight btw)._

Sam feels loose, the alcohol in his veins making everything thrum, and all he wants right now is to be close to Blaine, _closer_ , fingers twisting in the shirt that’s come untucked and unbuttoned right at the bottom where the faint trail of hair goes up to Blaine’s navel. He wants to put his mouth there, trace the curves of Blaine’s skin with his tongue, and--

Now he can’t stop thinking about how it felt, the first time he’d gone to his knees for him, so unsure of himself but so sure of Blaine, and he groans softly into Blaine’s neck, pushing forward until he can feel skin against skin, the vibrations of Blaine’s own moan like an electric shock to the system. He wants to drop down right here, right now; rip the pretty, raw sounds from Blaine that are for Sam’s ears only and feel him come apart at the seams.

But the music’s pounding around them, and somewhere at the edges of his mind, Sam knows they’re not alone, knows that-- knows there are other people, though he can’t focus on anything except Blaine and the slide of his thigh between Sam’s own, too much and too little all at once. Blaine’s skin is a furnace, and Sam slides his fingers lower, just a bit, until they’re pressed against the small of his back, dipping under the band of his jeans, just to hear the way Blaine’s breath stutters. 

Blaine’s lips are bitten red from his own teeth, and Sam wonders how much he’s holding back, knows just how loud Blaine can be when it’s just them and the Anderson’s empty house. He’s tempted to see if he can get him to let go, to ignore everything and everyone and melt into Sam, and _god_ , they’ve talked about this - about kinks - and _public sex_ didn’t come up but Sam can see it now, can see it in the tense line of Blaine’s shoulders and the hushed, broken sounds that he can’t quite hold back. Blaine _wants this_ , and Sam wants to give it to him, wants to push him up against the nearest wall, dip his fingers lower, and swallow every one of Blaine’s fractured pleas. 

He won’t, though. Even in his haze, he knows there are at least half a dozen good reasons why they started the night on opposite sides of the room, though right now he’s struggling to remember any of them. Something about secrets and exes and--

_Exes_ , right. Quinn and Mercedes and Kurt and all their friends, and none of them know because it’s no one else’s business. Not just the sex, though Sam wants to laugh when he thinks about how they’d react, their faces if they knew what he and Blaine get up to when they’re free to explore and try and learn. Not just the sex, but the tight feeling in Sam’s chest when he looks at Blaine, the way he wants to be everything Blaine needs, _always_ , and he doesn’t want to label it yet but it’s overwhelming and unfamiliar all the same.

Sam can feel it, now - feel the eyes and the muted quiet beneath the drumbeat that echoes off the walls - and he should step back, should put some space between them and hope people write it off as alcohol and adrenaline and bad choices. Except it’s none of those things, and Blaine’s still pressed flush against him, and Sam doesn’t care what any of them think, knows he still won’t come sobriety and awkward conversations tomorrow morning, and that’s the point, really.

They crossed the line from dancing to foreplay miles back, and Sam _doesn’t care_. Blaine still seems unaware, one of his hands at Sam’s neck as the fingers of the other dig into Sam’s waist, and Sam wants to keep him like this, far from innocent but safe.

Blaine’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and a hundred filthy thoughts flood Sam’s mind; despite everything, he still has no idea _how_ this could be a surprise to anyone, not when he can’t keep his hands and eyes off of Blaine, alcohol be damned, and even now, when he knows they have everyone’s attention, he can’t stop _touching_. 

There’s a gasp, barely audible, and Sam looks before he can stop himself. Tina’s hands are clutching the hem of her dress, and Marley, next to her, is watching with wide eyes and fingers pressed to her own mouth. Even Kitty’s staring at them from beneath lowered lashes, and Sam stops his gaze travelling any further, waits until she shakes it off, offering a faint smirk and a shrug that tells him she’s only vaguely ashamed of being caught. She nods her head towards the door, and Sam knows she’s right, but he just wants a little longer--

Blaine sighs against Sam’s collarbone, a damp impression of his mouth, and Sam grits his teeth and feels the music under his skin. He’s still drunk, but the world’s coming back into focus a little at a time, and he wants to shut it out, shut it all out until it’s just him and Blaine driving each other mad in every way they can think of. He wants Blaine’s hands and tongue and body, wants to drink in everything and come down afterwards like he’s been high for days.

His voice is raw from underuse when he finally finds it, breathes into Blaine’s ear, “Let’s get out of here,” and feels Blaine go loose with relief.

“God, Sam, _yes_ , now, _please_ ,” he whispers, half words that send what little’s left of Sam’s blood rushing south, and Sam digs nails into his palm to stop himself lifting Blaine up and carrying him out. Doesn’t want to stop touching him for even a second, but they have an audience, a _captive_ one, and right now Sam just wants to get Blaine out, outside, and somewhere, anywhere he can kiss him. _He needs to be kissing him_. Secrets are overrated and stupid and tomorrow they’re going to stop pretending that this isn’t everything it is, if only for Sam’s sanity.

“Come on,” he says, taking his hand, because the least he needs is that. “Come on.”

_Everyone knows where we’re going and what we’re going to do_ , he thinks as he leads Blaine through the sudden crush of people, not looking any of them in the eye, letting them blur until he couldn’t put a name to a face if he wanted to. Blaine’s free hand is pressing into Sam’s hip, though, slipping under his t-shirt, and the thrill of it is enough to leave Sam breathless, especially when Blaine murmurs, “They can all see us, Sammy,” into the shell of his ear, low and jagged and turned on beyond belief.

“Have a good night, boys,” Kitty says, right before they reach the door, amusement ringing in every word, and Sam can’t help but jokingly salute her as he keeps walking.

He can hear the swell of voices the minute they’re outside, and he’s grateful they waited, not because he cares about their questions and accusations and opinions, but because Blaine is pressed against his back, lips barely grazing his neck, and they’ve still got a far enough walk before Sam can get him where he needs him as it is.

“You heard the lady,” Blaine says, suddenly loud against the night. “Let’s have a good night, Sam.” 

Sam laughs and turns and kisses him, says, “We gave them one hell of a show,” just to see the flush against Blaine’s skin, and laughs harder still when Blaine says, “I don’t know, I’m not sure they quite got their money’s worth,” tugging him towards the sidewalk and praying that the Anderson’s will be gone all weekend.


End file.
